


Hoodie

by absinthedream



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 01:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17397659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absinthedream/pseuds/absinthedream
Summary: He almost lost himself, back when it was the only thing he knew he truly had.





	Hoodie

**Author's Note:**

> I was a bit hesitant to post this, since works with FCs can be confusing depending on how much context is given. But this is more Raimundo-centric, with my fan characters staying off to the side or in the background, so you know. What the heck.
> 
> If anyone is interested in seeing more of them, let me know. A multi-chapter story including them has been in the works for a long time. I have journals up for almost all of them on my deviantART, WhoYouFightin. 
> 
> Otherwise, this is a simple reflection on a potentially interesting wardrobe change.
> 
> Xiaolin Showdown (C) Christy Hui  
> Calliope, Master Blackwood, Mia, Sonja (C) absinthedream

She had been cold when she found it. 

Wrinkled by trials and tribulations, her curious hands pulled the dingy white fabric from the depths of his dresser. Freckled knuckles tenderly stroking along the seams of the hood, Raimundo barely noticed her inquiry, too absorbed in the 73rd level of Goo Zombies VII (he was just _borrowing_ it from Kimiko, honest) to pay attention. 

The drawer slid shut with a soft thud, and the Brazilian glanced up from the screen to observe her sudden, quiet padding across his bedroom floor. His mirror showed him her reflection, and the console slipped from his hand to the mattress he was sitting on as she held the cloth to her form, theme music beeping in protest. "C-Cal..."

His girlfriend touched the fibers with kindness, a curious little smile dimpling her cheeks. Eyes lighting up like oceanic foam in the gaze of a lighthouse, she reminded him of a child in the mystery aisle at the library, bubbling at the discovery of a clue. The Shoku leader might have been amused if not for the offending object in her grasp.

"Why have I never seen you wear this?" Heart pounding in his chest, he could have sworn it stopped altogether as she draped the jacket across his front, straightening the rumples with patience. "It would look nice."

_Ever wondered what it would be like to drink out of the world cup?_

Raimundo swallowed hard. "O-Oh, you know. Just...kinda outgrew it, I guess." The faded textile burned his skin, venomous as the panic in his eyes bounced back at him from the glass like a pouncing viper. "Gotta make more room for all this muscle."

Calliope raised an eyebrow, the grin fell away from her gaze, and he immediately mourned. It was rare to see something speak to her so invitingly; he missed that sweet, crooked beam. Whenever it came around it hung in his mind like a Cheshire moon for days.

She did not buy it, but thankfully, she said no more on the matter. Instead she reclaimed the material and traced at an old stain with her finger. In the dim glow of his bedroom lamp the Dragon of Wind could almost see the purple tendrils climbing up her back...

_Enjoy, Raimundo. You've certainly **earned** it._

Before he could even process what was happening his hands came down to rub her shoulders, desperate to fan the smoke away, but the rigid peaks of goosebumps there stopped him in his tracks. She was _freezing_. 

Calliope did not have many things. Her closet was as threadbare as her patience for shopping. The Caridads were poor, God-fearing people. Any money that was not spent on the upkeep of their farm went to the church, or the daughter standing on his plush carpet in her last good pair of socks. He supposed some part of her found it selfish to put the allowance anywhere but in savings. 

Raimundo swore this was the third time this week he had seen her donning that diminishing black tee. Her skin was starting to absorb the cottony smell of their laundry detergent. 

Embrace dropping to her waist, pulling her into him was like wrapping an ice pack with a dish towel before treating a sprain. His chin found her shoulder, warming the frosty flesh there, lips melting snowflakes. When their eyes met one finger came up to doodle along his arm, just as she had soothed the coat clutched to her hip.

"You can have that." The words spilled out like water. "If you want it." 

Her wide eyes found the hoodie, mouth parted like a fish in question. "Really?" 

The thinly veiled excitement in her voice palliated the ache in his heart, but he still found himself grimacing internally. He wished she felt more comfortable asking. "Yeah, sure. Probably needs a good wash, though."

"Obrigado," she breathed, folding the lumpy bundle into a somewhat neater mess of white. Glancing over her shoulder one last time as if to confirm his permission, she paused before grabbing him in a hug. The snuggle lasted a few moments before her toes were moving again, presumably toward the laundry room to start a delicate cycle, leaving Raimundo alone with his fond smile.

As soon as Calliope was out of ear shot, he sighed, and hesitantly faced the mirror once more.

Why had he kept it? 

_Raimundo has proven his loyalty time and again, and that's because I can give him anything he **wants**._

It kept him grounded, he supposed. Reminded him of his mistakes and what could never be forgiven, at least within himself. That childish arrogance, that innocence, had almost seen his friends crushed to death. His folly was obvious, in retrospect. Wuya was a _Heylin witch_. And long since his return, the Shoku warrior still found himself floating in her brew. 

He almost lost himself, back when it was the only thing he knew he truly had. 

And what was it all for? 

_Toys, money, Canada. Name it, and it's yours._

A sash, a second chance, he still had doubts about truly deserving.

Raimundo remembered the night he told her about it. He had been up with the stars and candles, studying in the library. Master Blackwood had previously undiscovered tomes in her collection, and Master Fung referenced their stories over tea from time to time. Anything to keep his mind from spiraling deeper into the dark. 

The first was about hydrotherapy meditation. Perfect for Omi. He had seen Calliope carrying it around before.

Next. Ancient medicine. Also model for his girlfriend. No wonder she spent so much time in here. 

The third detailed gardening techniques. Some dirt lined the spine, probably from Mia lugging it to the garden.

Xiaolin lore was the fourth. 

He read and read and read. Dashi beat Wuya and trapped her in a puzzle box. The temple was erected. Master Monk Guan lost his spear to Chase Young, carrying out the will of a demon.

Said weapon hung on a shelf above his bed. And he felt sickened in his relief at finding himself on common ground with someone, brought to their knees by the seduction of power. 

Someone who screwed up, just like him.

Soul-burning soup. Soda and skateboard ramps. It made no difference.

Chase Young, one of the greatest warriors ever to live, was a shell of himself. He lived alone on a mountain top, surrounded by his own hell fire.

What did that mean for him? 

His weeping brought his bare feet to her chamber, carried by some invisible, longing current, which opened to her waiting arms before he even had a chance to knock. They cuddled in her bed for a long time, until her shirt was near damp with his tears, his words snotty and muffled as everything flooded through the dam. 

When he looked up to gauge her reaction, she knocked twice, gently, on his head, as if setting up a joke. 

_"You were a dumb kid."_

_"Y-Yeah?"_

_"You still are a dumb kid."_

_"B-Babe---"_

_"But I love you. What does that tell you?"_

He was getting smarter, she said. He was trying. He was learning. He was living. He was loving. 

Now he just needed to do those things for himself. 

Raimundo fiddled with his Shoku robe belt idly.

He had not been tempted after his return. Not once. But just remembering, their forgiveness, was not punishment enough. He needed something to kick him while he was down.

So, he had kept it. When he brandished his new clothes, a care package from home, he stuffed it in the bottom of his trunk. When the Xiaolin temple was destroyed, he shoved it in his bag, more precious than his surfboard. When they moved into the Heping Palace, he smoothed it over a crevice in his set of drawers. 

It waited in the shadows of his mind, ready to squeeze the life out of him once again.

When he saw her later that night, she was jumping on the trampoline in the courtyard with Sonja. Fireflies blanketed the trees like snow, a cool breeze cascading through the birches, sending orange, red, yellow, and brown leaves fluttering around them in a shower of autumn.

Calliope was smiling. She was laughing.

She was wearing his hoodie--washed, dried, and stitched--over her long sleeve shirt. 

Living. Loving. Learning to do a back flip.

He caught her eye, and he saw the fire in them.

She was warm.

And finally, so was he.


End file.
